


Criminal Image

by xanavici



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, M/M, Mystery Man McCree, Scion Hanzo, hanzo is still a rich bitch forever and always, lets throw in some sparing gone sexy for good measure, man im so glad jesse was canonically a waiter in the past
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-29
Updated: 2018-05-29
Packaged: 2019-05-15 14:43:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,780
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14792468
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xanavici/pseuds/xanavici
Summary: Hanzo just wants to get this job done easily and quickly tonight, too bad a caped mystery man is going throw a wrench in his plans.





	Criminal Image

**Author's Note:**

> Only one month late to jump on the scion hanzo thirst train but hey, better late than never

Hanzo does not regret leaving the clan.  Yes, he regrets his actions that lead to him leaving, and he wishes that things could have turned out differently, but he does not regret leaving and never once has he wished to go back to the wretched hive of betrayal.  He didn’t want to go back when he started sleeping in seedy hotels and abandoned buildings instead of egyptian cotton, or when dinners became convenience store microwavable meals instead of gourmet food prepared by some of the best chefs in the world, or even when the first assassin came for him.

No he’ll never go back, but god damn he forgot how good that life felt.  

He smooths down the silk, dark grey and sapphire vest, flattening out the non-existent creases, and turns in front of the full length mirror for the sixth time in the past 5 minutes.  The tailor really outdid himself and it was worth it to dip into those emergency bank accounts for this.

Tonight, his current target, Victor Purcell, will be attending an underground casino that has a very exclusive guest list and very strict dress code.  Luckily, news of Hanzo’s defection had not reached Dorado yet so getting on the list was no problem. The dress code was also easily solved with a quick trip to the most prestigious tailors in the city.  Even after all these years, there was no way he was going to settle for anything less than the best.

His burner phone chimes from the desk and Hanzo steps away from the mirror to go check it.  A new text from an anonymous number pops up on the screen and contains only an address. Finally, the location of the casino tonight.  He had been waiting all night for this which means he can finally take down his target.

Hanzo takes one last indulgent look in the mirror since he’s almost certain the suit won’t make it through the night, gathers his tools, and is out the door.

 

* * *

Hanzo doesn’t miss this.  The gambling, that is.

It’s boring.  Once he had mastered counting cards and reading tells, the game had lost its luster, its appeal, its challenge.  It became a tedious bore, especially on night like this where he couldn’t even rake in the winnings. No, until Purcell finally decides to show up he needs to pace himself, balance his winning hands and his losing hands to keep a respectable amount of chips in front of him. 

It’s only because of how mind-numbingly bored he is does he notice the waiter. How his shoes are scuffed on the edges, his pants are a couple shades of gray too light compared to the rest of the waiters and how he has been carrying around the same four drinks all night.  Combined with that handsome face and devilish grin, it makes Hanzo slightly uneasy. Something’s not right, but he can’t figure out what.

Unfortunately, he can’t worry about that because Purcell decides to finally walk in.  Hanzo watches him exchange a sizable stack of cash for chips and stride over to a roulette table with more confidence than that cheap suit should give him. 

Hanzo finishes his last round of cards and makes his way to the bathroom.  In the privacy of one of the stalls he takes out the fake epipen he smuggled in and disassembles it into a much smaller and more discreet micro-syringe full of tetrodotoxin.  The security of the event meant that he couldn’t use his normal methods of dispatching a target. 

Normally that would mean he try to take out the target elsewhere, but unfortunately this one has been quite elusive and it took a lot of researching to even find out he was going to be here tonight.  Luckily, Shimada assassins were trained in many different forms of murder.

Hanzo takes the glove off of his left hand and carefully slides the syringe into the specially made fingertip so that the needle will pop out with a flex of his finger.  He replaces the glove, straightens out his vest, and leaves the bathroom.

Back on the gambling floor, he finds Purcell still by the roulette table, yelling at the spinning wheel.  Curiously enough, he also notices that the unusual waiter has disappeared. 

Whatever, not important.  He slowly makes his way across the floor, meandering between tables, appearing to look for his next game.  Purcell remains none the wiser, cheering as the ball stops on one of his numbers.

He finally arrives at the other side of the roulette table and claps along with the crowd when the man wins again.  As the celebrations settle down Hanzo slides around the table. He makes it halfway around, then within 5 feet. He slowly reaches out, closer, and closer, and-

_ BANG! _

One of the doors in the back slams open and a man in a black cape and blue scarf rushes in. The security guards move to do their job but they only get as far as raising their guns before they’re taken down with expertly placed shots to legs and shoulders from a deafeningly loud revolver.  The rest of the patrons scream and dive for the floor. Hanzo instinctively crouches but curiosity, and the need to finish the job keep him from cowering like the rest.

It’s over in less than 10 seconds.  Security guards writhing on the ground, smoke curling out the barrel of the silver revolver as the mystery man scans the crowd looking for something.

“Sorry to interrupt yer evenin’ folks,” the man says with a low, lyrical, American accent.  “Y’all’ll be able to return to the festivities once I find who I’m lookin’ for.”

Hanzo’s heart skips a beat as the man’s eyes stop on him, followed by the revolver.

No, not on him.  On the man next to him; his goddamn target.

“Mister Purcell, yer a hard man to find,” the man says as he walks over with a smooth, rolling gait.  “Yer British friends hired me to find ya an’ ya know how rude it is to keep ‘em waitin’.”

Purcell blanches and tries to crawl away, only to run into the roulette table. Mystery man comes to a stop right in front of him and lowers down into a crouch.

“L-l-listen,” Purcell stammers out.  “I-I’m sure we can work s-some sort of deal out?”

“Deal’s already been made amigo.  I’m jus’ here to collect my side of the bargain.”

Purcell continues to stammer and beg as the man hauls him up and jams his gun right in between his shoulder blades.  But before they make their getaway, the man stops and looks directly at Hanzo.

He looks him over appreciatively and says, “Lookin’ might fine tonight, handsome.”

Is he… flirting?  In the middle of a kidnapping!?

Mystery man winks and finally makes his exit.  Hanzo’s too stunned by his brazen confidence that it takes him a moment to realize that his target has actually been kidnapped, and that he should probably follow them.  He curses colorfully and runs after them through the original busted door.

The door leads to a staircase that climbs all the way to the roof.  Hanzo says a silent thanks for the first stroke of good luck he’s had tonight.  He runs over to the air vent that he hid his bow and quiver in when he first got here and straps them on before continuing to run across the crowded rooftops.

It’s easy to follow them; all Hanzo had to do was listen for the sound of pathetic groveling. He catches up to them quickly and pins Purcell to a plaster wall with a well placed arrow.  The mystery man quickly spins around with his gun drawn but Hanzo already has another arrow drawn and aimed at his head.

“Well hey there handsome, must be my lucky day if ya decided to run after me like this.”

“Not after you,” Hanzo says sharply.  “Give me Purcell.”

“Really?  You choose him over me?” he says with a fake wounded tone.  “Damn I really gotta step up my game.”

“He will earn me a hundred thousand US dollars, more than I am sure you are worth.”

The man tilts his head like he’s thinking, then shrugs.  “Well I ain’t gonna argue that. But he’s supposed to get me a hundred grand too it looks like we got ourselves a stand-off.”

“It is only a standoff if both parties have an equal chance of making it out alive, and I assure you, you are not my equal.”

“Well, I've always had a thing for dangerous men.  But I ain’t planning on dyin’ tonight.”

Without any more preamble the man fires off a shot, surprising Hanzo and clipping his prosthetic leg.  He automatically releases his arrow but it uselessly tears right through the black cape. He dives behind a plaster chimney and hears the mystery man yell out “Hey!  Not the cape!”

Two more shots bury themselves into the plaster next to Hanzo’s head before he peaks out and fires off another quick shot.  This one clips the man on his shoulder but is answered with another two shots that fly by much too close for comfort.

Damn.  No matter how skilled Hanzo is, a gun is still faster than a bow, especially at a close range like this.  If he wants to win this then he’s going to need to get rid of that gun and- Hanzo looks down at his glove and remembers he still has the poison loaded up.  This makes things much easier.

Hanzo loads one last arrow, a sonic one, and fires it around the corner without really aiming.  The sonic frequency immediately syncs up with the implants in his eyes to show him the outline of his enemy.  One more bullet is fired back but he’s already moving, creeping around the chimney to get into better position while the man reloads his gun impressively fast.

There’s a beat of silence where the air itself seems to hold its breath, and then Hanzo is slinking out of the shadows and launching himself at the man.

Hanzo realises his mistake after the third round of blows are traded.  The man is good. He had abandoned his gun as soon as he realised it wasn’t going to do him any good but proved that he didn’t need it with hand-to-hand combat that spoke of training far past what the average mercenary usually has.  But that’s not the problem. The problem is that he’s good and that makes this fight a challenge for Hanzo, a challenge he hasn’t had for a while, and with every punch and kick that is blocked or avoided he finds himself smiling more and more.

This is fun.

Hanzo knows he should not be enjoying this, he is literally fighting for his paycheck and his life, but how long has it been since someone has been able to stand up to him like this.  The few assassins the clan has sent after him so far have been laughable. He assumes that will change over time but until then he’s had no one to test him like this.

Mystery man recognizes this as they get briefly get locked together, chest to chest, face to face.  “Not bad.” His silky voice washes over Hanzo in this close proximity and he has to fight down a shiver.

“You have some skill,” he quips back, “but it will not save you tonight.”

Hanzo hooks a leg behind the man’s and kicks back while pushing to send him toppling to the ground.  Hanzo rolls over top of him and gets back up quickly. The distance allows him to clear his head for a second and refocus.  

The man has good defenses but he’s noticed that he favors his left side.  Punches always come from the right and the blocks for kicks always have just a beat of hesitation in them.  An old injury maybe, but Hanzo doesn’t care. Whatever it is, it’s the crack in his defense that Hanzo needs.

Hanzo jumps back in with a flurry of punches and kicks that force him to defend on both sides and hopefully trip him up with the speed.  To his credit, mystery man keeps up well, but Hanzo is better. Finally he sees an opening; the man is off balance after blocking a high roundhouse giving Hanzo the perfect chance to inject the tetrodotoxin.  Hanzo goes to sweep his front leg but purposely lets him step out of it so Hanzo can swiftly grab his left wrist to extend his arm unguarded. 

Hanzo sees the flash of metal a moment too late.  The needle connects with the steel plating, bends and snaps off uselessly.  Hanzo freezes for a split second. What are the fucking chances, and more importantly how did he not notice this before?  But then he remembers the carefully draped cape that’s thrown back and rotated around now, and he notices how in this low light the dark metal looks exactly like the black leather glove he wears on his other hand.

“Well now that’s a fancy gadget.  Sorry to break it.”

The man’s not-at-all-sorry voice snaps Hanzo out of his disbelief and their eyes meet for one heated second.  Then Hanzo’s pulling his scarf up over his eyes so he can disengage and go for plan B. He slips an incredibly thin stiletto blade from behind his flask on his hip and throws it with devisting accuracy into the exposed neck of Purcell who had slowly been trying to wiggle away during the fight.  

If he can’t take down the man, might as well take away his reason for being here.

Hanzo whips back around, prepared to continue the fight but instead encounters the unmasked face of the too handsome waiter from the casino.

“You!” Hanzo exclaims, full of disbelief and just a little bit of satisfaction that he was right about that waiter.

“Me!”  The waiter says with a cocky smile.  A smile that immediately drops when he sees the limp body of Purcell.  “You-“

“Me,” Hanzo parrots back.

He watches the waiter’s jaw clench, his hand curl up into a fist, the anger build up, and be let out with a single deep breath.  A switch is flipped and he goes back to being the relaxed, confident and cocky mercenary he’s been all night. 

He laughs low and starts saunturing over to Hanzo.  Hanzo instinctively takes a step back but the man just puts his hands up and slows down his walk a little.  He finally stops less than a foot away and pins Hanzo in place with his whiskey colored eyes.

“Well, can’t get too upset at a man who rightfully out-played me.” A hand comes up to gently trace over Hanzo’s tattoo and loosely wrap around his wrist.  “‘Specially when he’s so damn beautiful.”

Hanzo feels his cheeks heat up slightly but refuses to look away.  Why should he when this man has no such reservations? Besides, the fight is over and won.  Time to enjoy the spoils of victory. He sways forward just a little, pulled by an invisible force, and tilts his head up.  “A shame we had to meet while on business.”

The mystery man steps forward to close the remaining distance and leans down close enough that Hanzo can feel the ghost of his lips on his own.  “A damn shame.”

The world stands still for a moment, waiting for one of them to take the last step.  But before Hanzo can take matters into his own hand the man steps away.

“Like ya said, a shame.  Hopefully next time I see ya we won’t be so busy and we can have some fun,” he says with a wink.

What the fuck?  Hanzo feels a step off balance but forces himself to recover quickly to prevent giving the man any satisfaction.  He frowns but the man just smiles and walks towards the end of the roof. Hanzo huffs and walks over to Purcell’s body.

“Oh, and sugar?”

Hanzo looks up to see the man standing on the edge of the building and holding something up in his hand.

“This don’t quite cover what ya stole from me tonight, but for you?  I’ll call us even.”

Hanzo quickly looks down at his wrist then back up again.

He stole his watch.  His Rolex. 

_ That bastard. _

Said bastard just laughs and jumps off, probably to the next roof below.

Hanzo fumes but finds he can’t quite get as angry as he should be.

Oh next time... next time Hanzo will show that insufferably gorgeous man just what it means to challenge a dragon.

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on tumblr [here](https://cryptidhanzoshimada.tumblr.com/)


End file.
